Author: admin

After almost 3 months of being AF, I gave into the peer pressure of having a drink with some friends that I haven’t seen in years. Over the course of the weekend, it was a total of 5 beers. Rather than sulk or beat myself up – I think the key is to understand what I learned from this experience.

Lesson #1 – I know I could easily live a life free of alcohol. I’m so thankful that it didn’t get to a point where my body craved it each day. I don’t care for the taste, and I could care less about the buzz. If my family and friends did not engage in this activity, I would be perfectly content not having a drink for the rest of my life.

Lesson #2 – Not a surprise, but it really is all about the social pressure for me. The anxiety of going to a social event and not having a drink (or, the illusion of having a drink), is just as difficult as the stress and anxiety of drinking. It’s a complete paradox for me. As an example, I had six people giving me the worst time that I chose to be on the wagon when they came to town, but the minute I had a beer in my hand…they left me alone. There was no pressure.

Lesson #3 – When I’m intentional, and conscious – I was able to drink responsibly. While there were moments when I wasn’t present because I was trying to keep track of how many drinks I had, or whether I was hydrating myself enough…I can do it. The question is whether I can stay focused.

Lesson #4 – Knowledge really is power. The amount of time I have put into understanding the effects of alcohol has scared me. I did EVERYTHING the wrong way in the past.

Lesson #5 – Have a plan. No more than 7 drinks (2 units = 1 beer, or 1 small glass of wine) over the course of a week. Never drink on an empty stomach. Always keep hydrated with water. I did this over the weekend and it worked brilliantly.

I acknowledge everything I have outlined above may make me sound like I’m in denial or gave up. This may be true. However, I’m going to accept this is where I am at in my journey and be okay for now, because I know I’m better than I was yesterday.

I’m over 60 days AF. My health has never been better. I’ve been intentional with my diet and have eliminated most everything that my body doesn’t do well with; e.g., dairy, pork, red meat. I’ve exercised regularly, including the completion of two half-marathons and a 25k competitive trail run. I’ve been disciplined with my sleep schedule ensuring I get at least 7 hours of rest each night. This has supported my early mornings, which start at 4am and include meditation to get centered for the day ahead. I’ve read 5 books. I’ve been excelling at work. And most important, I’ve been more present and engaged with my wife and kids. This includes an amazing and cathartic conversation with my oldest daughter in regard to my challenges with alcohol.

Yet, I find myself completely depressed today. I’m sad and lonely. I’m depressed because I don’t know how I can sustain being AF in the context of my life. I stress that I’m filling the void with positive activity that will eventually burn me out. I stress that that my relationship with my wife is going to end because I can’t keep up with her social life. I’m embarrassed that I tried marijuana (edible – I hated it) thinking it might be a healthier alternative to alcohol and loosen me up around those drinking. I’m depressed because I’m actually considering re-introducing alcohol into my life, as I’m talking myself into thinking it can be different this time.

SPOILER ALERT: THIS IS AN EMBARRASINGLY LONG AND VULNERABLE POST THAT IS SOCIALLY AND POLITICALLY CHARGED.

For those of you that know me well, or have tracked my patterns, you recognize that I have a personal policy when it comes to using social media. I don’t use these platforms to express anything beyond pictures/comments about my family, things I find funny, or things that inspire me. Posts that hopefully many years from now, myself and my kids can revisit for key memories.

To be candid, I recently took a 3-month break from social media because I was annoyed by all the negativity that’s been surfaced, primarily since the election a year ago. What once was a place I could check-in to see what family and friends were up to, or get tuned into something interesting, was now a place where it seemed anyone could impulsively rant, or argue about a politically, or socially charged issue. It’s not that I disagreed with any of the rants. I just found them exhausting (probably no different than how you get exhausted with posts of my family).

So why am I about to break my policy? Well, first it’s because I (well, men in general) were called out by someone that I consider a good friend, amazing activist and one of the strongest female leaders I know, to have a stronger voice. This is not about doing her a solid (maybe a little). After being irritated at her call-out first, I realized that she’s right…I’ve been insecure to express my position because of both my race and my gender (more on that soon). Second, and probably most important – I have daughters and a son, and I don’t think I’ve expressed a clear enough point of view with them on where I stand with any of the social and political craziness that’s been surfaced as of late. Said another way, I might be leaving room for them to assume I condone what’s been happening in the world, or that I don’t think it’s serious. Last, I committed to myself going into this year that I would take a few more risks. While this post may be experienced as minor to you, it’s a big deal for me.

So, whether it’s social media, or just in general, I’ll lead with four excuses (it’s a build, so stay with me) as to why I haven’t had a stronger voice in regard to #metoo, #equality, #blacklivesmatter, #equalpay, #impeachtrump, #(fill-in the blank).

Excuse #1 – I’m a positive dude. I loathe negativity. There’s not a lot in the media today that’s optimistic, so I frankly avoid it. I also hate politics (I wish I had paid more attention to this subject in school) because I don’t understand them. So, I avoid the topic at all costs.

Excuse #2 – I am wired to be overly empathetic…sometimes to a fault. It’s not easy being a human being. I also don’t believe being good, or evil is binary. There’s not a single shitty thing happening in this world today that doesn’t have a highly complex backstory. Not a reason to justify the actions of treating others poorly, but these backstories involve addiction, emotions, abuse, religion, mental health issues, etc. I believe everyone (even the worst of people) is doing the best they can with the awareness, tools, and knowledge they have.

Excuse #3 – I’m in denial. Period. This leads to my last excuse.

Excuse #4 – I’m insecure, because I’m a white privileged male. For those of you that are confused, or have an immediate allergic reaction (you’re probably my white male friends) to this statement, I’ll share a quick story.

My daughter just had a minor surgery, which took place at Doernbecher Children’s Hospital this last week. Admittedly, leading up the procedure, I was anxious for days thinking about her being under anesthesia, potential complications, being scared, and being in pain. As expected, it all went well and we checked out of the hospital late in the afternoon. However, as I was exiting the hospital observing all the children not able to leave because they are fighting for their lives, dealing with more serious medical conditions, I was overcome with guilt and sadness. Why are we so lucky, and they’re not? What did those innocent kids do to deserve the torture they are going through, but mine gets to go home with just a sore throat? I felt a deep sense of guilt and shame. This was likely exacerbated by the shame I was already feeling over the holiday, when a close friend of mine lost her 5-year old daughter to cancer.

This is the exact feeling I experience when I see the behaviors of our white privileged male president, and see/hear about the treatment toward women and people of color. I feel nothing but confusion, guilt, and shame. Why was I so lucky to be born into a gender and race that doesn’t have to experience the magnitude, or mistreatment that minorities deal with? Has my lack of voice, or past actions contributed to any of this? And, where is my voice in all of this? If I do express my voice, will it be rejected? Will it be misinterpreted? Will I be rejected, and/or mis-casted?

I’ve been paralyzed. Paralyzed, because I don’t know what it’s like to be in other’s shoes. Paralyzed, because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Paralyzed, that my fellow white male friends might not have the same point of view (specifically, accepting the fact that we’re privileged), and potentially reject me. All of it is straight up awkward. And, it’s not right for me (us) to let that be an excuse. Our lack of voice is deafening.

So, while I acknowledge it’s passive, as I’m stating this over Facebook. As a white privileged male, I want to be crystal clear about what I believe, and what I stand for.

Every human being on this planet deserves to express themselves authentically, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, and sexual identification. I may not understand all the choices individuals make, but we all deserve to live in a world where everyone is treated with respect, dignity, and feel safe being themselves. I believe our world, and certainly our country is not that way today. Racism and bigotry is real, and it shows up in all shapes and sizes. It shows up in what we say, and what we don’t say.

I believe women, with comparable skills and experience, deserve fair and equal pay to men. It does not exist today. Period.

More focus and effort needs to be made in making any work environment safe for every employee. I believe weak laws, weak company policies, unconscious bias and under-qualified leaders/influencers absolutely impacts the safety, and success and of minorities (if not clear, this is inclusive of the female gender). Yes (fellow white males), it impacts us too, but not near to the extreme of others.

We have a president that is doing the best he can with the awareness, tools, and knowledge he has at his disposal. AND, it’s not enough. I believe he’s unfit, and under-qualified. I believe the only reason he’s in office is because he tapped into the single most powerful emotion that exists, which is fear. It’s this emotion that drives his behaviors, decisions, and frankly brings out the worst in everyone. His integrity, and ethics aside (at this point, I could give a shit that he allegedly slept with a porn star), I’m scared for our country because his attitude, words, behaviors and misuse of power is dangerous, and likely to get people killed. I believe he must be removed from office.

I believe any wrong-doer deserves a second chance. Don’t lie, or make excuses. Just own it; e.g., David Letterman, and try to be a better person.

I believe every human being has the right to their opinion. If you disagree with my beliefs, or where I stand, I respect you. However, if your words, and actions hurt others…I don’t.

Last, as a white privileged male, I believe I have a higher level of responsibility to stand up for those that are not being treated fairly. I’m not exactly sure what it looks like, but I believe collectively; our voices and actions can probably have a bigger impact on change than any rally, social media campaign, march on Washington, etc. It just requires some courage.

So, I’m not looking to become an activist, or even start a campaign. Frankly, this is likely the last you hear from me (on social media) about this topic. However, I am inviting those of you (emphasis on my friends that are white and male), that read this and remotely feel the same way to have a voice.

If you’re feeling courageous, put a comment out there. If you don’t know what to say, simply ‘like’, and forward. If you have a good hashtag for this…great, make one up and pass along. It will start a dialogue. It will support change. And, it’s our responsibility as privileged human beings.

Ok…last night was a first. I attended a large 40th birthday party, of which I knew very few people. Got stuck at a dinner table with all the husbands, and yes…I was the only one not drinking (not sure they knew it). I ended up next to a few guys that were certainly nice, but clearly not interested in engaging in conversation (beyond superficial shit…seriously, can you ask me at least one question, and act like you care!?). I’m the king of questions, but I ran out…it was that bad. I WAS SO BORED, and caught myself getting frustrated. Frustrated because they were lame, but also frustrated because I realized that if I was drinking…they would still be lame and the alcohol would have just helped me cope with it. Not a reason to drink. Not a reason for a hangover.

As the dinner winded down, the wives started to mingle and were excited to go dancing. A few of the wives approached me and called me out (in a lovingly fun way) for not drinking. “This is the second time we’ve hung out, and you’re not drinking!” “Your wife said you were fun”. Ugh…like a dagger to the heart. Not sure if you’ve seen the “Friends” episode, but I felt like “fun Bobby” post sobriety (it’s a must watch for this community). Here’s a fun clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9qR3y_oLXM (if it doesn’t work, go to YouTube and type in “Fun Bobby”.

Going back to my “first”…I ended up going home around 9pm and my wife went dancing without me. I have such mixed emotions because I didn’t have an urge to drink at all. I also could have easily gone dancing and been fine. I simply got irritated with the peer pressure (I just didn’t want to deal with it) and caught myself feeling bad for not being “fun Bobby”. Irritated because I feel like I let them down. Angry, because I should have just admitted I have a bad relationship with alcohol. Beating myself up, because I let them get to me. Sad because my wife went without me. Happy because my daughter was so excited to see me and wanted to cuddle up to a movie. Happier because I woke up at my normal time of 4:30am feeling great and enjoying a nice cup of coffee, while the house is asleep.

Not being “fun Bobby” and dealing with the social pressure is definitely going to be my kryptonite. I hope there is a day when everyone just accepts (and understands) why I can drink, and just lets me be who I am.

Today is approximately 15 days AF and I can honestly say I’ve been on a high for the 14 leading up to today. Friday is (was) my favorite, and for the most part (minus holidays/vacations), only drinking day of the week.

So what is it about Friday?

First, it’s my first Friday following a week of work, post-holiday. I was never so aware of the buzz (pun intended) about drinking around the office. It was like I had Spidey-senses on this topic today?! It would require a longitudinal study, but my hypothesis is: talking about drinking, going out, etc., is a more active discussion on Fridays. It didn’t help receiving text messages from friends wanting to meet up for a pub crawl, and putting my lunch into the office refrigerator, just to see the cold Coors Light sitting there in their beautiful silver cans.

Second, I suspect my brain is conditioned to want to get drunk on Friday. It really hit me like a ton of bricks. To the point, I got a headache. I also caught myself in a lie, as the little voice in the back of my head was rationalizing that I don’t have a problem with drinking…after all, I made it 15 days! Maybe I can give moderation a start? I only wish, but I don’t know moderation, and going several days without drinking has never been an issue. Rather, I just know one gear when I do drink. The gear that gets me drunk the fastest, which is putting it right into 5th (I drive an automatic, so not even sure if this is the highest gear these days…maybe turbo?J). I DEFINITELY need to be more prepared to deal with this voice in the future, because it snuck up on me like a stealth missile.

Third, and last – I think I’m a little sad and angry. I loved my drunk Fridays. I loved the excitement of getting home, pouring a beer from the keg, turning on some music and hanging with my drinking buddy…my wife. I’m gutted I can’t do this anymore and it just FUCKING PISSES ME OFF THAT IT HAD TO GET TO THIS!!!! Twisted, I know…but I’m also sad for my wife.

I think it’s important to call out the significance of Friday. Yes, it’s the end of the week and the beginning of the weekend, but I chose Friday’s because I knew I would feel like shit on Saturday and likely have ‘the blues’; e.g., feeling guilty for drinking too much, questioning myself about having a problem, feeling insecure, etc. on Sunday. Saturday was always an insurance policy on the unpredictability of Friday. Paradoxically, I would protect Sundays for a long 10-15 mile run. In my fucked-up brain, I would tell myself that this exercise would offset all the damage I did to myself on Friday, and get my head right for the week ahead of me. Ironically, I listen to podcasts on these runs that focus on health, reaching my potential, etc….solid.

Friday “not so good” scenario #2 – copy paste #1, but drink 8-12 beers. Going to bed was always a blur. Variables that typically impacted this were my levels of stress, and likely because we had friends over to the house. Wake up feeling crumby, but not completely debilitated. Maybe sneak in a 3-mile run to sweat out the cob webs.

Friday “bad” scenario #3 – copy paste #2, but introduce mixed drinks into the process. This could include a pre-vodka drink (or 3) prior to beer. Or, getting full on beer and then shifting to vodka. I would not remember going to bed, and wake up with a bad headache. Praying to god I didn’t text someone on accident, or post anything bad on social media. If I’m lucky, I snuck away to bed. Worst case, I assed-out in one form, or another. I’d typically lay around all day Saturday not doing anything.

Friday “all fucking hell breaks loose” scenario #4 – copy paste #3, but tequila shots are peppered throughout the night. Friends are always involved and yours truly was the instigator. I mean, c’mon! – it’s going to be fun and create great memories (sigh&hellip!!! I would definitely black-out and inevitably hear about something stupid I said, or did. This would be followed by a royal hangover, of which I borderline want to go to the emergency room and of course, swear to myself I’ll never drink like that again. This is also when I go into a deep depression about my relationship with alcohol, run all the scenarios through my head about letting my kids down, feeling like a fake because no one in my professional life knows this side of me. Did I mention I’m a senior executive that leads a Human Resources organization? For fucks sake, I’m supposed to embody logic and rational behavior?!

Additional variables to my Fridays included my kids being around, potentially being at a friend’s house, being out at dinner, or a bar, etc. You get the point. Any of the four scenarios could happen with each of these variables, creating all sorts of potential problems.

Well, so long Friday. It really was fun for a while. I look forward to reinventing our relationship. I also look forward to running a ½ marathon tomorrow on my hangover day.

I did it! Not only did I survive being AF New Year’s Eve, I did it in an environment that presented every potential trap. I’ll spare the play by play, but a few moments of reflection.

First, I didn’t go into the night dreading it. Not sure if it was the relief of having made the decision to stop drinking in general (day 9 AF, still concerned this is a false-high), or because I’m relatively social and have been cooped up in the house on vacation and was just looking forward to interacting with people. Either way, I felt positive, even to the point that I helped prep (we hosted a party), made a music playlist, and organized the bar for everyone else to enjoy (yes…I just said that).

I never once had an urge to drink. In fact, I found the site of alcohol repulsive. However, I did feel the pressure to participate when pushed. Right out of the gates, our first guest arrived with a gift…a bottle of good Irish whiskey. Thank god, I think whiskey tastes like shit, but I was reminded by my neighbor that a couple weeks ago I told him (over dinner during a drunken buzz) that I aspire to drink whiskey (longer story for a different blog). Boy, did that request come back to haunt me. I knew I wasn’t going to do it, but I did start to panic when he gave it to me. Fortunately, he drank it all. There were also a few occasions, four to be specific, that it was discovered that I wasn’t drinking. “You’re not drinking…why?”. “You’re just waiting to drink later, right?”. My strategy was to avoid that question at all costs by keeping a solo cup full of club and lime all night, but couldn’t lie when I was asked what I was drinking. I danced around each one, not because I’m ashamed of telling everyone I’m done, but the timing didn’t feel right.

I was present. I realized I had a lot of time on my hands because I wasn’t constantly thinking about what I was going to drink next, or counting how many I’ve had, or wondering why my buzz hasn’t kicked in. I took time to fully engage with every guest. Most importantly, I engaged with my kids. If I’m being brutally honest, I would have experienced them as cramping my style on a night like New Year’s Eve. Not because I don’t love them, or want to be with them, but because I would have been self-conscious of them seeing me drunk, which was getting in the way of me getting drunk. Even as I write that, I feel like such an asshole. Well, either way…I was there for them. I even danced with my youngest daughter.

Tonight is my first big test. 8 days without a sip of alcohol and I’m now facing the Super Bowl of social drinking events. We’re hosting a party with families and yes…the parents all love to drink. The music playlist is set and the dance floor is clear…the perfect environment to let the drinking rip. To top it off, my wife just got a text from a friend saying, “You’re not waiting until the party starts to begin drinking are you?”.

What’s up with that text? I’m not asking the question from a place of judgement, because it’s so something I would have sent. But admittedly, being conscious about what I’m not going to do tonight has me thinking about the psychology behind the question. Rather than project, here’s some reasons why I think I would have sent it:

First, I would be really excited about drinking tonight. The thought of slamming those first few beers and that rush of adrenaline that hits is magical. Naturally, I would want others to know I was excited and I would want to know they reciprocated…so I would text..

Second, I likely would have already started drinking by now. The party starts in a couple hours, but no better excuse to commence in the excitement then beginning immediately. It would also help me loosen up, as I don’t know these couples very well. My drinking buddy (my wife) would have been my partner, but it would make me feel better to know someone else was doing the same thing…so I would text.

The last thing that comes to mind is the term cognitive dissonance. I’m a psych major, so you’d think I’d remember it, or understand it better (likely not, I drank my way through college), but it’s been refreshed after reading Annie Grace’s book, This Naked Mind. Cognitive dissonance refers to a situation involving conflicting attitudes, beliefs, or behaviors. I’ll leave it to you to study it more, but here’s my personal translation: I know I’m doing something I don’t think is right, which is likely going to lead to an epic fuck-up tonight, so I need validation from someone else to restore some balance in my head…so I would text.

I’m officially into day 8 without a drink and I find myself up in the middle of the night, woken from a dream involving a situation tied to a past drunken mistake. As usual, I can’t fall back to sleep as I’m fixated on this mistake and the incredible guilt I feel from it. Thoughts typically spread, as other horrible scenarios and regrets fill my head.

One of the most common thoughts is tied to my kids and thinking about the nights I would drink and pass out, and obsessing on what would have happened had they been in danger, or seriously needed me that night? My wife reminded me tonight of a time about a decade ago that I passed out at my sister-in-law’s house. My son, who was 3 or 4 at the time, was with me and not too dissimilar from most nights when he was young, had a night terror. I wasn’t there for him. How would I feel about myself had I not been there for him if it was more serious? What if he was sick? What if he was choking? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

Ironically, this dream falls on the night leading into New Year’s Eve. A night that I would typically go into with the best of moderate drinking intentions, but inevitably fuck-up.

So this is officially my first blog post. I have no idea what I’m doing and have been obsessing over the format of this site, which I’ve struggled with for the last couple of hours. It’s frankly made me want to drink, which is ironic as alcohol is what lead to this moment.

So where do I start? Well, how about the last time I had a drink.

It was exactly a week ago when my brother came into town. I went out the night prior with my wife and some new friends. It was a relatively tame night for me. I paced myself. We had a nice dinner, a couple beers, a few glasses of wine and then closed the night with a Spanish Coffee. I remember coming home, and I woke up not feeling too hung-over. This was likely because I was a complete shit-show and drank way too much with another set of friends a few nights prior.

My brother, also a professional drinker, reached out and checked in to make sure I was “not going to be lame” if he were to come over. This is code for….”Are you going to drink with me?”, as he knew I went out the night prior. In all fairness, I would have said the same thing to him. It’s what we do, and I didn’t want to let him down. I went for a run to clear my head, got home and told him I’m in.

To say the least, I forced myself to drink with him. We hit a bar, as I needed to be somewhere that was going to give me some energy and shared a couple pitchers of beer. Each swallow felt like the beer was going to come back up because of the acid reflux. We came home and had a couple more, and then met up with some friends for dinner. I tried to drink another beer, but tapped out because it was literally not going down. I declared I was done, which I knew would be a mistake because a round of shots came my way. I only had one. We went home, I didn’t feel drunk (sad, considering I probably had 6-7 drinks), and I went to bed.

At about 3am, I woke up with the worst stomach ache. It got to the point that I forced myself to vomit, which I did for what felt like 10 minutes. While I physically felt okay in the morning, the shame and depression kicked in like I’ve never felt before. I could not stop obsessing about all the horrible shit I’ve done in my 43 years. If only people knew my double life and what a fake I am. I ran, I meditated, but nothing was shaking the lonely and sad feeling that kept consuming my mind. I will never forget this feeling, but during my run I actually realized why someone might consider suicide. I certainly wasn’t thinking about hurting myself, but I knew it could be possible if I had to constantly live with what I was feeling in that moment.

So, this is it…I’M FUCKING DONE with drinking alcohol.

So why the blog? Well, I’m not really sure. Here’s some initial thinking:

I like to write, and I’ve always wanted to journal, but I’ve never really had a reason to do so. It’s actually been cathartic writing this single blog entry.

Writing out all the things in my head; e.g., stories, thoughts, etc., associated with the life I’ve been living might be similar to an exorcism. Maybe each story will exercise a demon from my head?

I read a great book about kicking drinking, which I’ll share later. The author highly recommended sharing stories.

While I would never consider sharing it now (way too humiliating), this blog might help family and friends understand me better.

Maybe this would be inspiration and insightful for my kids.

Maybe this will help others.

The more I write my stories, the more I will remind myself of why I quit in the first place.